


Hero

by ScribeOfReaper



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Comms not working, Gen, Nyx being a hero, battle field
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 20:45:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13489437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScribeOfReaper/pseuds/ScribeOfReaper
Summary: I have to get to them. It’s the only thought in his mind as he runs, warps, and dodges his way across the field of battle.





	Hero

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this as a Secret Santa fic for my good friend ScribeOfRed, who was also kind enough to edit out my numerous mistakes.

“Yo…an’t hold i…ust go! Leav…s!”

The strained voice crackles in his ears, incoherent and distorted. Almost lost in the deep baritone of his own ragged breaths

“St…ellin…wha…I…an and can’t do! Just shu…an…et me con…ntrate!”

“Why d…ou hav…e so stu…n? Liber…o base, do yo…opy? Re…sting ba…p. I repeat reques…ackup! We ha…a Glaive in critical condition…inne…own…elna! Pelna! Sta…th me!

The fractured words ring in his mind even as they drown in the static that dominates the comms. He can see them, see the scene playing out before his eyes…

A shield of crystalline light surrounds them, a constant drain on Crowe’s waning strength but still she stands tall. Teeth grit, she breathes in shallow, pained gasps as sweat and blood and dirt mix into a slick liquid that trails down the side of her face, blinding her even as she tries to blink it away.

Libertus sits crouched just behind her, one hand pressed to his ear piece as he continues to try and signal for backup; the other lays heavily on Pelna’s chest. Small scratches litter his exposed arms—superficial, all of them, but they bleed, leaving trailing crimson rivulets down the stocky Glaive’s arms. Otherwise he is unharmed, but his face is pale, drained of colour until the reflected light from the crystalline shield above him casts a pallor of ghostly blue light across his face.

Pelna lies still beside him, unnaturally so, especially for the once hyperactive Glaive who even in sleep would constantly shift and twitch. His once contagious smile is missing, replaced by a fractured grimace that lies heavily on his lips. Something dark and wet spreads across his chest; it seeps between Libertus’ splayed fingers even as he continues to put pressure on the wound. Blood…

_I have to get to them_. It’s the only thought in his mind as he runs, warps, and dodges his way across the field of battle. Claws sweep across his path, emerging from the fog of battle to his left, and he has to throw himself to the ground to avoid them. Spitting grit, he’s on his feet again and running, kukri in hand, the soft familiar feel of the leather grip comforting.

Drawing back his arm, he takes aim, ready to warp again.

Blue light caught from the corner of his eye is followed by the swift and jarring impact of another body slamming into his own. The blade held aloft, ready to be thrown, spins from his grip, lodging in the dirt not two feet away, but the other comes up. It is only then, as he prepares to bury his blade up to the hilt into his attacker’s ribcage, that reason finally overtakes instinct.

Blue crystalline light, it’s not a sign of danger. It’s the signature of a Glaive’s warp trail.

The tip barely grazes the Glaive’s coat. Even so, the blade bites into the material, leaving a small tear where there had once been smooth black leather. It’s enough to startle the Glaive into stumbling backwards, in a less than graceful attempt to put some distance between himself and the drawn blade.

Only the grip he has on Nyx’s lapel keeps his feet grounded, and the grip soon tightens. It’s an action meant to intimidate, but it hardly has the desired effect when the Glaive barely reaches Nyx’s shoulder in height.

“What the Six do you think you’re doing!” Luche, he should have guessed. “Our orders are to—”

Nyx doesn’t let him finish. What was the point? He knew what he was going to say: their orders were to remain here on standby.

Standby…while Crowe, Libertus, and Pelna are in trouble…

…Never.

He fazes from Luche’s grip to his fallen blade, sweeping it into his grasp as in one swift motion he relinquishes the other. He can hear Luche cursing him but what does it matter, he’ll deal with the consequences when his friends are safe. Demotion, probation, imprisonment, or exile. Whatever the higherups think he deserves for going against orders, he’ll take it, no matter what it is.

So long as he can actually save those that matter…

…for once.

Warp after warp, he focuses on his breathing to try and quell the roiling sensation of his rebelling stomach, born more from the gnawing dread that seizes his guts than from the sickening vertigo induced by chaining one too many warps.

“…needs a Phoenix Down, ther…othing else f…it.”

“We do…ve one. I used my last on…sterday. Pelna! Come on d…t do this.”

The words echoing across the comms become clearer as he grows closer.

Just a little more.

Just one more warp.

His kukri lodges in a towering monolith, the lone survivor standing tall over the fallen remains of its brothers. It’s the perfect vantage point: the entire battlefield lies below him, but he can’t see _them_.

He rakes his eyes across the blood-soaked plain even as he tries to hail Libertus. He knows their general location, but if he wants any hope of finding them he needs specifics.

“Libertus, come in. Libertus!”

Silence and static are his only replies.

“Libertus, come in. What’s your location?”

More silence, an echoing void that leaves Nyx feeling hollow. His eyes are still roaming the terrain, looking for any sign of his friends, but again and again the same words play out across his thoughts…

…Too late.

“…yx…n you hear me.”

The words are so quiet, barely on the edge of his hearing, but they are there. Desperate for confirmation, he adjusts the frequency on the comms, forcing himself to run through them slowly.

“Ny…re you there? We could rea…se th…elp if you are.”

“I’m here!”

“Nyx! Thank the Six. Pelna’s dow…owe can’t maintain the shield much longer, the r…bout to co…wn on us, and the…preparing to attack again!”

Libertus’ voice is still partially lost among static, but Nyx has a signal. All he needs is a location.

“Location, Libertus! I need your location!”

“North-north-eas…f the Cecidit Heros fortre…ast wall.”

It’s Crowe’s voice that comes over the comms, strained and dry.

“…t approach from the south…”

He throws his kukri even as he continues to listen, catching the blade mid-flight, wind whipping at his coat and mask, but gravity cannot catch him as he twists, launching his other blade. The feeling of resistance increases with each successive warp, and with it, the pain that lances through his veins with intensifying agony. An agony that becomes harder and harder to ignore, but still he does.

Crowe and Libertus are still shouting through the comms:

“It’s coming ba…Crowe, jus…o. Meet u…th Nyx!”

“Shut u…ust shut up! I’m no…ving you to that thing’s mercy. Nyx, do yo…ad. Do…pproach from the south!”

He’s close now, so close. The fortress’ east wall is to his back, he should be able to see them now.

“Crowe. I read you, I’ll be there shortly, just hang on!” _Just please hold on._ He can’t lose them, not them.

A glint of refracted light catches his eye up ahead. He stares out, trying to see where it came from even as he runs. He doesn’t dare chance a warp now—the shift in perspective would only waste time he doesn’t have.

He searches blindly, desperate for the barest hint—there! Crouched within the mouth of a cave carved into the base of one of the many arching stone columns that span the gorge.

The light of Crowe’s shield had been lost among the refracted light that filtered through the shards of crystal that litter the rocks that surrounded them. Now that he has seen them, they are easy to find again.

One more warp, just one, and he will be beside them again.

A sharp impact, cold, irradiating pain, and the taste of blood mixed with dirt overtake him before his kukri is even raised.

Light dances before his eyes. His own shield, his fogged mind supplies, raised more from instinct honed by experience than actual thought. It’s all that spares him from the next attack.

Ice splinters across his defences, leaving fractured spiderweb cracks in their wake, but it holds, protecting him from the worst of the blast, though the force behind it still robs the breath from his lungs as he hits the ground once more.

Searching for grip he desperately needs in the soft sand beneath him, he struggles to stand. He manages to rise to his knees, his hands fisted in the earth as a harsh cough finally drags air back into his lungs. It’s then that pressure descends upon the fractured remnants of his shield.

It’s too much. He can feel his shield crumbling above him, disappearing back into the aether; he can’t even turn his head to see what’s causing it. At this rate he won’t even get to see the face of his killer.

The low growl that reverberates through his entire frame gives him the identity of the thing looming above him.

Kaiser Behemoth…

Rolling to the side, he can feel the earth beside him give way between the massive jaws that finally shatter his weakened shield.

Stupid! He should have blocked. It was the perfect chance, but he missed it and now he is scrambling just beyond the reach of its blood-stained claws.

The Behemoth is bearing down on him. Too close, no time to warp away, no time to block.

“Nyx!”

Red fills his vision, bright, warm, and familiar.

Distance that wasn’t there before is now between him and the great beast that had been bearing down upon him.

He can see the Kaiser Behemoth retreating, shaking its head to dislodge the embers still glowing in its eye.

The red had been a fire spell—actually, it was more likely a Firaga spell, judging by the smouldering scars splayed across the left side of the Behemoth’s face.

“Nyx!” A hand is on his shoulder, shaking him. He doesn’t feel the urge to strike out at the body that hand is attached to. He never would, not at her. He knows it’s her: it’s Crowe. The scent of burnt ash mixed with the delicate spicy scent of sandalwood gives her away.

“Nyx! Get up! Come on, there’s no time!”

He listens; he knows from experience that going against Crowe when she uses that tone of voice is never a wise decision. As soon as he’s on his feet they’re running, only to hit the dirt again as a wave of glacial fog—courtesy of one very ticked off, now one-eyed Kaiser Behemoth—rolls over them.

“What the Six were you thinking!” Crowe’s voice is slightly muffled, as he’s keeping her head down with his arm as the initial wave of frozen air rips through them. “I told you not to approach from the south.”

“The comms were shot, all I heard you say was ‘approach from the south,’ what else was I supposed to think you meant!”

They’re on their feet again as soon as the summoned storm shows signs of weakening, searching for cover.

“You should have checked.”

“I’m sorry, I thought getting to you guys took priority over messing with my comms to try and hear your dying breaths better.”

“Sarcasm? In this situation…really!”

She had a point, but he wasn’t about to admit that.

The wind kicks up, stealing away what dwindling visibility they have left. They stop—they have no choice. He can feel Crowe moving to protect his back.

“Is now really the best time for a lecture?” He flips down his hood, regretting it as the harsh, ice-laden winds tear at his face.

“Well, I might not get another chance if you keep making rash decisions.”

“What’s that supposed—”

“Nyx Cro…are…ou there. Pelna can’t hol…n much longer.” Libertus’ quiet voice cuts through his words, silencing even the howling wind that surrounds them.

What was he thinking; there’s no time. A few minutes may be all Pelna has left—even a Phoenix Down can’t save someone past a certain point. The thought of that sends a cold chill racing down his spine that has nothing to do with the crashing temperatures.

“Crowe.” He fishes out his last Phoenix Down and places it in her grasp. “Get back to them, I’ll cover your retreat.”

He doesn’t have to look at her to know she’s about to fight him on this. “Nyx, I won—”

“Between the two of us, you’re the faster, you have the best chance of getting back to them in time.” Logic—it’s one of the few things she won’t argue against. _I’ll pay for this later._

She hesitates, he can feel her frustration radiating through his back, but it passes. “Ifrit take you! If you end up dying, I’ll kill you myself.” The reassuring heat at his back disappears as she warps away, but he can’t help but smile. Killing him when he’s already dead. She’d find a way to do it, and Libertus and Pelna would be all too happy to help her.

Shoving those thoughts to the side, he pulls his hood back up, if he’s going to do this then he’ll need all the protection he can get. Rummaging through his pockets, he grabs an ether from his dwindling supply. He’s never been as good as Crowe when it comes to spells—then again, who is?—but heading into battle unprepared has never been his style, and a well-placed warp or spell could make all the difference.

He knows what will happen the moment he crushes the bottle in his hand. Kaiser Behemoths have very sensitive hearing—that and the aura of light that will engulf him as the ether takes effect all but guarantees that the beast will find him. Good, he needs it to find him and not Crowe.

He has to think. He’s fought Kaiser Behemoths before, always with his comrades, but the premise is the same—at least he hopes it is. He should use ranged attacks to get its attention, the spells he’s capable of don’t have much of an effect on it but are still good for distractions, blindsiding it is always a good idea, but chain warps are better.

“Just you and me now, big guy.”

With one last calming breath he crushes the bottle.

All thoughts on strategic planning are thrown from his mind when the tail surges from the mist to his right. It catches him in the chest, cracking two—no, three ribs, definitely three. He’s coughing, trying to squeeze air back into his unresponsive lungs, but each empty gasp feels like fire ripping through his torso.

The Behemoth is rearing, preparing to bring all its formidable weight down upon him. He blocks, throwing up his guard, and the world seems to slow as the behemoth’s claws glance off the translucent shield before him.

Taking his only chance, he slides between its back legs. Jumping its sweeping tail, he ignores the burning pain in his chest as he grabs the thrashing limb beneath his hands. Feeling the abnormal weight, the beast spins, trying to grab him. It’s what Nyx was hoping for as he clings, only letting go when the tail’s swing is at its zenith.

He warps, using the Behemoth’s own momentum to add strength to his blade. It works: his kukri slides smoothly into the thick hide of the creature’s right shoulder, burying itself to the hilt. He doesn’t have time to extract it from the muscled flesh, as he’s already moving, angling his body to catch the beast across the right side of its face.

The Kaiser Behemoth bucks wildly; roaring to the heavens, it dislodges him before he can retrieve his other blade. He moves with the wild force and rolls to the ground, running as soon as his feet touch the earth.

Looking over his shoulder, he can see blood where a cruel yellow eye had once rested. The red splayed across the right side of its face eerily matches the blackened scorched flesh across its left. No cruel gaze follows him: it’s blind.

The thrill of success that courses through his veins ebbs as the ground beneath his feet gives way to open air. The world flips as he grasps at the side, wrestling with the loose earth to find the starkest shade of grip. He finds it, barely, in the form of the withered black roots of a long-dead tree. He can feel the brittle roots snap as he grasps at them. For every inch he drags himself up, he falls another three, the loose earth under his feet crumbling under his weight.

He’s making too much noise, he knows this. The Kaiser Behemoth is blind, not deaf. As if his thoughts summon it, the beast appears above him. Its sightless eyes search blindly, scenting the air as it tilts it head this way and that.

It stills above him, drawing closer. Its nostrils flare as it tracks his scent, its head lowering slowly towards him. Hot breath carrying the smell of rotted meat and the copper tang of blood washes over him in heavy pants as gravel torn lose under the behemoth’s paws rain down on him.

He looks below, the abyss looks back.

He makes the only choice he has left…

…He lets go.

Gravity latches on to him like a starved wolf. He draws his kukri as he twists. He’ll only have one shot at this…He doesn’t get it.

The fall ends too suddenly.

Pressure; severe and unyielding pressure clamps down across his chest, but there’s no pain. There should be pain; he can hear his cracked ribs breaking, the bones splintering under the strength of those jaws. He can feel the warm blood turn cold and sticky as it soaks into his torn leathers as the dagger-like fangs sink into his flesh.

There should be pain.

Panic overtakes him as blood floods the back of his throat, metallic and cloying, drowning him as he tries to scream, but he can’t hear it. He knows he’s screaming, rending his throat open with the strength of them, but only the staccato beat of his own heart reverberates between his ears. Until that too starts to fade.

_I’m going to die_.

The thought sobers him somewhat, sharpens his focus even as darkness rolls in at the edge of his vision.

Anger.

At this monster, at those that unleashed it, at the Empire that invades his home and endangers his friends…

…At himself.

He stabs forward blindly, grasping the soft leather hilt of his kukri with both hands. His blade bites into the deep gash across the Kaiser Behemoth’s right eye. He twists it—his reward is the sound of tearing viscera and the wounded howl of the beast in pain.

The teeth sheathed in his chest recede and he’s falling.

Free, he warps to the blade still lodged in the Behemoth’s back.

Snatching the blade, he buries it and its twin into the soft flesh of the Behemoth’s neck. It’s not enough, he knew it wouldn’t be; that’s why he already had his Thundara spell charged.

Underneath him the Kaiser Behemoth tremors violently. His kukris are glowing with the power of the lightning he’s channelling, bolts of blue running down his arms through his blades and into the dying beast below.

The flash of searing pain and the dying roar of the beast beneath him is the last thing he hears as darkness overcomes him.

…

Death hurts a lot more than it should.

It also smells a lot worse than he imagined, like burned hair and charred meat.

The ground beneath his fingers is soft, yielding, but brittle at the same time. It cracks beneath the smoothest touch of his fingers.

He’s breathing: shallow laboured gasps, not something he thought you would have to do in the afterlife.

“He’s here! I’ve found him!” It’s Libertus shouting…maybe he’s not as dead as he first thought.

Strong hands lift him, gently manoeuvring him so he rests comfortably against the broad chest of his long-time friend.

“Six, did he do this himself?” It’s Pelna’s voice this time, slightly pained, but if he’s talking, that means Crowe made it.

He tries to open his eyes, but it’s a task that proves too difficult.

“Of course the reckless idiot did this himself!” There’s Crowe sounding pissed. He’s not dead yet, so she can’t follow through with her earlier threat, but that’s little comfort. “Luche! Hand me your Phoenix Down!”

“What? It’s my last one! I’m not was—” Something that sounds very much like a fist meeting Luche’s face interrupts him.

“One more word and I’ll hit you again.” Crowe’s voice is deceptively low.

“You think one lucky shot will ma—” This time the sound is louder and it’s followed by Luche’s muffled cries of pain.

Crowe obviously gets the Phoenix Down, as the next thing he knows he can feel the soft touch of a feather being pressed into his hand. Libertus places his hand over Nyx’s own and helps him crush it. The moment the feather crumbles between his fingers, heat floods his veins, chasing the cold he hadn’t even noticed from his limbs.

He groans, opening his eyes to see his friends. Bloodied and looking dead on their feet but alive.

“Hey, guys.”

All of them scowl at him.

“That’s all you have to say after what you just pulled?” Crowe accuses.

“I’m tired, so yeah.”

Pelna snorts, he can feel Libertus shaking his head, and Crowe just sighs.

“No matter how tired you are, we’re not carrying you back.” Libertus chuckles as he drops him.

Rubbing the back of his head, Nyx pouts. “Come on, I saved you guys.”

“Our hero,” Crowe deadpans. “You’re still walking.”


End file.
